Mirror Image
by Eileen
Summary: Animatedseries based. A little piece of Valentine's Day fluff.


MIRROR IMAGE

After searching for him all morning, I finally found Superman in the library, still trying to master 31st-century compubooks. He told me once that in his time, books were still printed on paper. Can you imagine?

He looked up as my shadow fell across the table. "Oh, hey, Brin. What's up?"

I laid down the bundle I was carrying and asked him, "Are you any good at working with wood? Like, craft projects, that type of thing?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Why?"

"You think you can help me fix this?" I unfolded the bundle, and a mass of splintered wood fell out.

"Whoa," he said. "What was this?"

"A mirror. Obviously I couldn't save the mirror part, but I kept as much of the frame as I could." In a softer voice I said, "It was my mother's."

Clark put his book aside. "You've never talked about her."

"She died when I was twelve."

"I'm sorry," he said, and I could tell he meant it. "I know what it's like to lose a parent."

"We'll talk about it some time," I said. "Right now I want to know if this can be saved."

He poked through the fragments and asked, "What happened to it?"

"**I** happened," I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know when exactly my father's experiments on me started," I began. "I was sick a lot as a kid, so I was always getting injections and tests and stuff. When we moved to Raal, my father took over my medical treatment, and at first I didn't suspect a thing. But as time went on, the treatments became longer and more involved . . . and more painful. A **lot** more painful.

"I remember begging him to stop. 'Please, Daddy, please, no more, I can't take any more!'

'Nonsense, Brin,' he would always say. 'This is for your own good. Be a man and do what I tell you.'

"He said that a lot: 'For your own good.' Like it was ever about me.

"It was years before I thought to look in a mirror. One day—days kind of ran together on Raal—I realized it was the fifth anniversary of my mother's death. I guess I just wanted to feel close to her. I went into her room and just poked around.

"I lay down on her bed and put my head on her pillow. It still had her scent on it. Then I looked through some of the old photos, and the stuff on her dresser, the little mementos and stuff.

"Then I looked in the mirror.

"I guess I scared myself; I struck out before I knew what I was doing. Knocked the mirror off the wall, broke it into a thousand pieces, and shattered the frame. I started to pick it up . . .

"The next thing I knew, I was being restrained—but just barely—by two mechanicals, while my father stood there and watched with a strange look on his face.

'They used to say breaking a mirror was bad luck. I hope for your sake it's not true.'

'What did you do to me?'

'You should thank me. I've improved you.'

'You call this an **improvement**?' I pulled and strained, but the robots held me back.

'Think of how you were, just a few years ago. You're so much stronger than you were.'

'I'm a freak! You made me a monster!'

'Don't be silly. You're a model of modern bioengineering. No longer will the human race have to suffer the lot they've been given. They can improve themselves, as you've been improved.'

'I never asked to be "improved"!' I shouted at him.

"He sighed sadly and shook his head. 'Take him to the holding area,' he ordered the bots.

"I was stunned. The 'holding area' was where we kept the lab animals. 'You're putting me in a cage?'

'I can't trust you any more, son.'

'I am not an animal!'

'Trust me, Brin,' he said, as the bots dragged me away. 'It's for your own good.'"

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

"My God," Clark said. "He locked his own son in a cage?"

"I think he really thought he was doing the right thing. Anyway, it gave me time to think. Mostly about getting out. When I finally broke free, more than a week later, I went back to my mother's room and picked up all this, in the hopes I could fix it. It's all I have left of her."

Clark sifted through the splinters. "I think it would take too long to glue all this back together," he said.

My heart sank. "Then you can't do it?"

"Well, maybe. See this big piece here?" He held up the top piece of the mirror, the one with the roses carved on it. "IF we keep this one piece, and then build around it, that could work."

"Then you'll do it?"

"We'll do it," he said. "Let's go down to the workshop and figure out what we'll need to finish it."

We went shopping for supplies the next day.

"By the way," Clark asked, "why did you want to paint it white?"

"It's a special gift," I said. "For Phantom Girl."

At this, Clark's smile widened. "So you two are an item now, huh?"

"Well, we're not picking out china patterns or anything yet."

"Hey, this is perfect. You know what's coming up?"

"No."

"Valentine's Day!"

I must have looked puzzled. He explained, "In my time, February fourteenth was a day for people to give special gifts and cards to those they loved."

"Can't let those old traditions die." I grabbed some pink paint for the roses. "Is this good, or do you think I should go with a darker shade?"

"That's fine," he said. "You're really going all out to impress her."

"I just—I just want this to be special."

"Uh huh."

We took our purchases to the checker and rang them through. Clark used his credchip to pay for it, in spite of my protests. "You don't have to do that. I can handle it."

"Consider it my Valentine's Day gift to you."

"Just don't get mushy on me." A thought occurred to me. "Do you have a girlfriend? I mean, back home, in your time?"

"Well . . . kind of."

"Kind of? What sort of answer is that?"

"Well, there **is **a girl that I've always liked, but . . . I've never actually told her."

"Why not?" I asked. Then, realizing I was prying into his personal business, I added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't know, really." We left the craft supply shop and started walking back towards the Tower. About two doors down, we bumped into Lightning Lad and Saturn Girl . . . who I **thought **were on patrol. Guess they must have knocked off early.

"Hey, guys," Clark said. "Slow day?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Lightning Lad said. "We were just going to get something to eat; you wanna come?"

"Sure," Clark said, and then looked at me. "Um . . .?"

"Sounds good to me," I said.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

We went to the Kosmic Kafe, which I found too "kute" for words. They had good burgers, though.

"So what's in the bag?" Lightning Lad asked.

"Nothing," I said, trying to hide it behind me. "It's kind of a surprise for someone."

"You can tell us. I won't blab, I promise."

I struggled to suppress the urge to growl at him, and said, "Clark told me about something from his time called Valentine's Day. He said it was a day to give presents to those you care about. I thought it sounded like a good idea."

"I don't know," Saturn Girl said. "I thought we agreed no more gift-giving after that Secret Santa fiasco."

"Look, Brainy told me the guy who sold it to him claimed it was an art book!" Clark protested.

"Art book," snickered Lightning Lad. "That's a good one."

"Anyway, I had a long talk with him about what is and is not appropriate to give a teammate. It won't happen again."

"I hope not. That was embarrassing." She refilled her water glass from the tabletop dispenser. "This Valentine's Day idea sounds nice, though. How does it work?"

So Clark explained the whole thing, and it sounded good in theory. But then, the Secret Santa thing had sounded good, too. Hopefully this time it would work out better. The look on her face when she peeled back the wrapping paper and saw—well, we'd just have to be more careful this time.

I couldn't help wondering if having everyone give gifts to each other would cheapen my original idea. "Why don't we put it to a vote? See what everybody thinks of the idea? Maybe they won't want to do it."

"I don't think it will be a problem," said Clark, the eternal optimist. "We know what went wrong last time. I think it might be fun."

"We need to set some ground rules, though," Saturn Girl suggested. "Nothing over a certain amount, no personal items, and **no** 'art books.'"

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Over the next few days, Clark and I worked on the mirror, and everyone pretty much left us alone. Wondered what we were up to, but left us alone.

The first step was cutting and shaping the reconstructed portion of the mirror frame. We did it wrong the first time; it came out lopsided because we measured the angle wrong, or something.

"I guess you **do** use the complicated math again in life," he said, and went back to the drawing board.

Once we had it cut and shaped to the right angle and thickness, the next step was to bond it with the existing portion of the frame.

"This is molecular bonding solvent," I told him, holding it up. "Make sure it doesn't get on your skin or clothing."

"Yeah, I superglued my fingers together once," Clark said.

"What happened?"

"Ripped all the skin off my thumb."

I hissed in sympathy. "That must have hurt."

"Yeah, it did. So I'll be careful."

You know, it's a funny thing about Clark. I knew he was Superman—it was his working name here—but somehow I just couldn't connect the legendary hero with this kid who accidentally dropped a tool on my foot.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! It just slipped. My hands are sweaty."

We looked at each other. "I'd say it's time to take a break."

"Yeah, probably."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

People can change. I used to look at my parents' old wedding holos and how happy they looked. Less than a decade later, they barely spent more than five minutes in the same room together. But I never heard them fighting. Either they saved it till I was asleep, or they just didn't talk at all.

How long did/would it take (time travel really messes up your verb tenses) to turn a clumsy, insecure teenager into a strong, confident hero still remembered a thousand years later? Was this process beginning here and now? Were we changing the past, or shaping the future?

Too much deep thinking made my head hurt.

By the 12th we were ready to apply the paint. Clark, however, had other things on his mind.

"I think I should write her a letter," he said.

"Who?"

"The girl I told you about."

"You mean the one you liked, but never told her?"

"Her name's Lana. We pretty much grew up together, but I didn't realize how I felt about her until maybe a year ago. I mean, a year ago my time."

"Why don't you tell her in person, when you get back?"

"I don't want to mess it up. If I tell her in person, I might say the wrong thing and have her mad at me. If I write it down, I can work out what I want to say before I say it."

"But won't she get suspicious if you read from a script?"

"I won't be reading from it. I'll just use it as a guideline. Just sort of mark down a list of bullet points to cover. Where should I start?"

"We can start," I said, "by putting the first coat of paint on. You can write your love letter while we're waiting for it to dry."

"Oh. Right." He used the large brush to apply the white paint everywhere but the very top. Once that was dry, we'd put on a second coat of white, and then go in and use the fine brush for the roses. And hope that this time neither of us dropped anything.

The final step was the actual mirrored part.

"Now don't drop this," I said.

"I won't. Will it fit?"

"There's that complicated math again. You **did **measure it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Fifty-five centimeters. Should we try it first, to make sure it fits?"

"No, it'll work. Now, what you want to do is apply the bonder evenly around the edge of the mirror. Don't use too much, or it'll smear all over the place."

He did so, using the applicator tip. "Now what?"

"While it's still wet, insert the mirror into the frame, bottom first. Then leave on a flat surface to dry."

If it sounds like I'm reading off an instruction sheet . . . that's because that's exactly what I was doing. I pulled the step-by-step off the Web before we started, figuring that since we didn't know what we were doing, some expert advice would be helpful. So far so good.

The mirror snapped into the inner groove in the frame without even a smear of bonder on the paint. I breathed a sigh of relief. Leave it to dry overnight, and . . . we were done.

"Maybe now we can work on my letter," Clark said.

"Oh, no, I'm not getting involved in this!"

He already had a data pad in his lap. "How should I start?"

"How about, 'Dear Lana'?"

"I meant after that."

"Well, how should I know? It's **your **letter. You say what you want to say."

"But . . . I don't know what I want to say."

"Just tell her how you feel."

"Straight out, just like that? You think that's a good idea?"

"Hey, she'll never know unless you tell her." I tried to think of a good opening, but I had no more experience with love letters than Clark did. "How about this: 'Dear Lana, I've been watching you for a long time—'"

"That makes me sound like a stalker."

"Just trying to help." I started pacing back and forth, trying to think on my feet. "Okay, how about: 'Dear Lana, if I could have any girl in the universe, I'd like you to be that girl.' Sound good?"

He took it down. "Hey, that's great! Thanks! And then what?"

"I'm not writing the whole thing for you. Maybe some romantic music would help." I tuned the radio to the All-Romance station, but somehow I don't think Clark found "The Slime of Your Tentacles" very moving. Number One on the planet Ketaxis, though.

He threw the pad across the room. "I can't do this! I feel like if I open my heart to her, she'll rip it out and stomp on it."

"You gotta take the chance," I said, as if I knew anything about it. I still didn't know what I planned to say to Phantom Girl when I gave her the mirror. Maybe I should have kept a few lines for myself. "If you don't even try, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been."

He looked at me strangely. "You sound like Doctor Phil."

"Who?"

"This pop psychologist from my time. He was always telling people what they should be doing with their lives."

"I'm not telling you what to do," I said. "I'm just giving you my advice. It's up to you to do what you gotta do."

"I guess so." He went over, picked up the pad, and started over. "'Dear Lana, this might sound funny coming from someone you've known all your life, but . . .'"

I left him to take it from there, and went off to look up this Doctor Phil. Maybe he could help me with my problem.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

The notice was at the top of the bulletin board:

_VALENTINE'S DAY PARTY_

_FEBRUARY 14_

_6:00-8:00_

_Bring a gift for your special someone!_

_(No personal items, gifts over 100 credits, or "art books".)_

I groaned inwardly. There went my special one-on-one moment. My only chance was to get Phantom Girl alone before the party—and she was supposed to be with her mother most of the day. Some sort of official function that she couldn't get out of. I'd have to go see her first thing in the morning, if I wanted to do this right.

"Or you could just give it to her at the party," Saturn Girl, who was standing behind me, said.

I turned around. "Do you usually eavesdrop on other people's thoughts?"

"No, I make it a point not to. But your thoughts were just so . . . loud, I couldn't help overhearing."

"Try harder next time." I started to walk away, but she stopped me.

"You're afraid she won't like it, aren't you?"

She wasn't going to let this go. "Why wouldn't she like it? You think she'd rather have an art book?"

"I think," she said, "she'd be happy to have something you made for her yourself."

"Well, Superman helped."

She smiled. "Try catching her before breakfast," she advised. "She'll be leaving right afterward, so you'll have to be fast."

"Thanks."

I'm normally an early riser, but just to be safe, I left a 6:30 wake-up call, to give myself time to get cleaned up first. It wouldn't do to go see her with massive bed hair.

Miraculously, the closest bathroom was free. We have six of them, at different points on the dormitory floor, and in the early morning there's usually a long line at each of them. I'm not naming names, but someone hit the button that overrides the automatic 15-minute shutoff **four times** one day. Maybe it's because I'm an only child, and not used to sharing, that it bugs me so much.

But this morning the shower was clear. I jumped in, lathered up as quickly as I could, rinsed off, then hopped out and cleaned my teeth. By 6:45 I was dressed and headed for Phantom Girl's room, package in hand.

"_I feel like if I open my heart to her, she'll rip it out and stomp on it."_

I knew what he meant now. The worst thing that could happen wasn't her saying no. The worst thing that could happen was her saying no, she hated me, and I was an idiot to even think that someone like her could like someone like me.

I didn't think she would say that, but the thing is, you never know. The wrong word at the wrong time, or even just not saying the right word at the right time, can change a whole relationship. And what was worse was that we'd have to go on working and living together as if nothing had happened.

I looked up and realized I had passed her door about twenty meters back; doubling back, I tried to focus. I hadn't prepared a script—should I have?

_You're over-thinking this. Just **do** it._

I went up and tapped on her door, hoping she was awake, and dressed.

"Yes? Who is it?"

"It's me," I said.

"Just a minute."

"If this is a bad time, I can come—"

She opened the door and stood there in a flowing green robe that swept the floor, her hair up in an elaborate headdress. "Sorry. I was just fixing my hair. Come on in."

Well, this was a good sign. I stepped inside, looking around a bit but trying not to look like I was checking her out. I'd never been in a girl's room before. What struck me was the lack of personal touches—there was one photo of her with her mother, but other than that, no keepsakes, no souvenirs of other worlds, nothing.

"You're really neat," I said. "Not a thing out of place."

"Thanks," she said. "Always have to make a good impression."

"I'll say." She was wearing tiny green slippers in the exact shade of the dress, and I wondered if they'd come as a set. "Listen, I wanted to give you this—" I held the package out to her. "I made it myself. Well, Superman helped me, but it was my idea."

"You **made **this?"

"Rebuilt it, more like. It was my mother's."

She carefully slit the wrapping paper and folded it back. "Oh! It's—it's beautiful." She ran her fingers over the roses. "Thank you."

"I can put it up for you now, if you want."

"Oh. Um . . ." She looked over at the wall chrono. "I guess I have a few minutes before I have to leave. Go ahead."

"Where do you want it?"

"Over there," she said, pointing to a blank spot on the east wall.

I used Insta-Tack to put it up. "Is that straight?" I asked. stepping back and looking at it.

"It's fine." She went right up to it and looked at herself. I stayed where I was. "Don't you want to see?"

"I can see just fine from back here," I said.

"Oh, come on!" She took me by the hand and brought me face to face with myself. I tried to look away. "What's the matter?"

"Look, I—I'm glad you like it. I've gotta go. I'll miss breakfast."

"Brin." She looked me straight in the eye. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid!"

"Then look." She twisted my head so I was looking straight into the mirror. "What do you see?"

I couldn't speak. I knew what I was seeing—the same thing I'd seen the night I'd broken that same mirror. A freak. A monster. A weak little boy who couldn't stop the horror that was being forced on him, day by day . . .

"I'll tell you what **I **see," she said, when I didn't say anything. "I see a young man who's using his abilities to help other people. I see someone who cared so much for someone else that he took the time and effort to make something with his own hands. Someone who would rather die than hurt another living being."

"I wanted to hurt my father," I muttered under my breath.

"But you didn't." She took my hand. "Because that's not who you are. You're not a killer, or a monster, or a freak, no matter what your father did to you. Deep down inside you're a caring, considerate human being. You got that from your mother. That's why you kept this, because she's a part of you. And now you've given that part of yourself to me."

I didn't know what to say. "Will I see you at the party tonight?"

"I hope so. I'll try to get away in time to make the party. I can't promise anything, though."

"Well, in case I don't see you, then . . . Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day." And she kissed me. Right on the lips. No hesitation or anything. "Bye."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Clark and I both got drafted to help with the party decorations, which gave us a chance to talk.

"So? How'd it go?"

"How'd what go?" I said, playing dumb.

"Did she like it?"

I was grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, yeah. She liked it."

"That's great. I hope she makes it back in time for the party."

"She said she'd try." I was hoping she'd wear that dress. It looked good on her. "By the way, I've got some stuff you can use in your letter."

"Don't need it." He handed over the data pad and called up the file

_Dear Lana,_

_It's amazing how you can know someone all your life and never really talk. Even though you and I have been friends since kindergarten, deep down I've always wanted something more. I've never told you how I feel, because I didn't want to ruin that special friendship we have._

_Are you willing to take a chance? Or would you prefer we leave it as we are? I care enough about you to respect your feelings and wishes towards me, and if you say no, I'll back off. But I think the places we could go are worth the risk._

_Clark_

"Sounds good to me," I said, like I knew what I was talking about. "Print up a hard copy to take with you."

He sighed wistfully. "It's hard to think about home, while I'm here. I miss it."

"Can't say I feel the same," I told him. Then I thought about my mother's garden back on Zuun. It didn't grow, of course, but that didn't stop her trying. She was working on breeding a contaminant-resistant type of rose when we got the transfer order. She always did like roses.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

We were worried all day that some galactic emergency would come up and the party would be cancelled, but only a few minor events came to our attention, and we had them under control in no time.

" . . . reception on Regula III today, the Galactic President and her daughter enjoyed a full Regulan banquet—"

"So she's not coming."

"That was recorded hours ago," Brainiac 5 said. "I saw it on the two o'clock news update."

Clark put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, she'll be here."

I **wanted** to believe, but I was getting worried.

Six o'clock came, and the party got underway. I had four glasses of the supposedly nonalcoholic punch while I sat in the corner and waited.

Triplicate Girl asked me to dance.

"I don't know any of the steps."

"That's okay," she said. "Just follow me."

We stepped out into the middle of the floor and started swaying back and forth. I found myself enjoying it in spite of myself. I was having such a great time I didn't even notice that it was almost seven o'clock and Phantom Girl still hadn't shown.

All of a sudden, the music stopped. "Come on," Superman said. "They're giving out the presents."

Everyone was gathering at the front of the lounge, where a table had been set up with some of the gifts. In the interests of fairness, each of us got one small gift from "Anonymous"—mine was a detailed carving of a wolf howling at the moon, made out of Raalian pine. No, I don't know where they got it.

Superman had his "S"-shield done in some kind of shiny stone, synthetic marble maybe. "Hey, yours is really neat. I wonder who did them?"

"It's supposed to be a secret, I guess." I wandered over to see what everyone else was getting.

"Here, Brainy, this is for you." Bouncing Boy gave him a small, square package.

"What is it?"

"Well, take off the wrapping paper and find out!"

"Don't get excited." Brainy undid the wrapping paper slowly and carefully—deliberately, I could tell—and finally uncovered . . . a book. "_PNO-K10_?"

"It's about an android who wants to be human," Bouncing Boy explained. "I thought you could relate."

"Oh." Brainy took a gift off the table. "I have something for you, too."

"Aw, you shouldn't have!"

"I shouldn't? Why not?" He looked confused.

"He didn't mean literally 'You shouldn't have'," I explained. "He just meant it was nice of you to think of him."

"He was just being polite," Superman added.

"Ah," Brainy said. "Interesting."

Bouncing Boy tore into the wrapping paper with wild abandon. "It's a Gnarthog!" he shouted. "I've been looking for one of these for years!" He proudly held up a four-armed creature about twenty centimeters high, made of some kind of plastic.

"You collect dolls?" I asked.

"It's an action figure," he corrected. "It's really rare, too. Only five hundred were ever made!"

"I'm very happy for you." I went to have another glass of punch.

I almost missed the most exciting gift of all. I heard an "Ooooooh," and rushed over to find out what was going on.

Saturn Girl was holding up a gold necklace with a purple stone. "Is this . . .?"

"A Jovian amethyst," Lightning Lad said. "It matches your eyes. Here, let me put it on you."

"And I got you a pair of socks," she said, as he fastened it around her neck. It stood out against her white party dress.

"I like the socks. They're nice socks. Don't worry about it—you can make it up to me on my birthday."

What happened next I'll never know, because the lounge door opened . . . and there she was.

"Am I late?"

"I didn't think you were gonna make it." She was still wearing the dress, although she'd undone her hair.

"I didn't think I was, either. The Regulans serve great food, but they talk you to death afterwards. Finally my mother told me to just go, she'd cover for me."

"I'll have to thank her," I said.

I took her hand and walked with her to the refreshment table, but she said she couldn't eat another thing. "It all looks so good, though. Save me some?"

"Wow," Superman said, looking her over. "You look great, Phantom Girl!"

"Thanks," she said. She looked like a queen, I thought, floating along beside her. And I was happy just to be there.

"There's a present for you over on the long table," Saturn Girl said.

"Really? Thanks. Ooh, where'd you get the Jovian amethyst?"

"From, ah . . . my secret admirer."

"I'll tell you about it later," I said.

The only gift left on the table was very small. It turned out to be a crystal figurine of a unicorn.

"Oh, I love unicorns! Where did this come from?"

"No idea," I said. "No one will own up to it." I showed her mine.

Then a slow song came on and I asked, "Wanna dance?"

"Sure," she said, and we made our way out into the spotlight.

Then I realized it wasn't a spotlight, it was an alert flashing.

"Perfect timing," I grumbled.

She looked down at herself. "I guess I'd better change. Meet you guys in the Ops room in five minutes."

"Wait!" Saturn Girl called out. "You didn't give your presents to each other yet!"

I thought about the morning, and how one look in the mirror had changed my whole day.

"Yes," I said, "we did."


End file.
